Deal Of The Year
by ibrokethestars
Summary: Destiel fic- When Dean drives himself into a booze-consuming depression after Sam ends up in hell, Castiel steps in and does what any other Winchester would do.
1. Prologue

_**A little while along the road**_

___Dean's heart was already broken, so when Castiel left him in a puddle of pages and regret, he was numb, incapable of feeling anything but the vast emptiness in his chest._

_"Goodbye, Dean." The words echoed around his mind as he tried to come to terms with losing the only thing keeping him here, the only thing he had left that was worth both living and dying for. With trembling hands, Dean scooped up the tear-stained pages, pages that held every moment they had shared together. He'd always hated the Supernatural books but now as he stared at the black and white print he found that he only hated the character whose actions jumped from between the lines. Every fight, every doubt, every tear shed. All the mistakes he'd made written down, unchangeable. _

**_Now_**

Dean and Castiel sat on the end of the bed, a silent conversation flowing between their tear-laced eyes. Dean swallowed, a hard knot forming in his throat. Without Sam there to be strong for, he didn't know why he was even trying to keep calm. Old habits die hard. His voice was hoarse and thick, his jaw clenched, staring Castiel in the eye. "Cas," he breathed in, his words trickling out slowly and steadily, battling for control over his emotions. "you _promised._"

"Dean-"

"Just go, Cas. Leave."

He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and then nothing. Emptiness. In the silence of the room, he allowed himself to fall apart.

Cas sat alone in a busy diner, the scent of sizzling meat and greasy fries summoning thoughts of Dean, the way he'd smile through a face-full of food, the way his eyes would light up, the way he'd throw his head back and laugh at him and his innocent ignorance. Cas had come here just to remember those times, to remember when there was life in Dean's eyes and happiness in his heart, because he knew from now on the laughter would no longer be twinkling in his eyes, it would be as hollow, as empty, as bitter as his soul was becoming.

He was the Guardian of the Winchesters, and yet Sam was in the depths of Hell and Dean had given up. Castiel had watched over Dean his whole life and not once had he seen him sit back and let the demons win.

_"That's crap,"_ he'd replied when Tessa had said that his fate was set, _"you always have a choice. You can either roll over and die or you can keep fighting, no matter what." _

But he wasn't fighting anymore. By now, Dean had given up trying. Why fight this supposed 'destiny'? The destiny in which the Winchesters were condemned to suffer? Why try to fix something when it would inevitably result in losing more than he could gain, when everything around him would crumble for the sake of holding one thing together? Why try when it was so hard, and hurt so much? The Dean Cas knew would have summoned every demon in the book to bargain with, he'd sacrifice, he'd threaten, he would do something, anything, everything for his brother because without him, he was empty, because he gave him purpose, because he was the only thing he had left. Yet he just sat there staring vacantly at the walls. But Castiel knew what he had to do, something he'd promised Dean he'd never do again. What choice did he have left?


	2. Chapter 1

"Ah, Castiel. How nice to see you again"

The voice came from the shadows of the abandoned factory that Castiel had reluctantly visited, his jaw and fists clenched. Everything about what he was doing put him on edge, the thought that Dean wouldn't forgive him for doing this, even if it was to save his brother, lingered at the back of his mind. But they were family. Dean had said so himself that he thought of Castiel as a brother and this, Cas had learnt, was what family did for each other.

"I need to make a deal."

"What with me? Castiel I'm shocked. Is your little love toy not holding up too well with the loss of his beloved moose?"

"Crowley." Cas was impatient, his fingers drumming against his trenchcoat. He just wanted this over and done with.

"You're all work and no play, you know that? Now tell me, why would I make a deal with you, it didn't exactly end too well the last time. A man remembers something like that, Castiel."

"Because," Cas sighed, "I can give you this" Between his two fingers, attached to fraying lengths of string, Castiel held several glowing blue bottles. Angel's grace.

Crowley's eyes glinted: Cas' attachment to the Winchesters had taken him to lengths even he hadn't expected. Castiel was offering a lot more than Crowley had imagined, and in that piqued a curiosity of just how much he could have to gain from this offer.

"Sorry love, you've got to try harder than that"

Cas felt the dead weight of Crowley's words fall upon him. He stood there in almost a trance-like stillness until his brain finally processed what this meant, and then every voice in his head shouted all at once, his thoughts bubbling and spilling over with a new found rage:

"Crowley,"

His voice cut like razors, cold and sharp. His wings flared and expanded, towering around him. The fear, the hurt, the turmoil Cas felt was masked as from within him the pure essence of a warrior of heaven shone, brighter and hotter than the whitest star and a thousand times more deadly.

"These are my brothers and sisters. My elders. My superiors. Divine beings created by God. And I hunted them. I betrayed them. I close my eyes and I see my hand holding a blade to their neck, I see the wide-eyed terror in their face. I hear their screams in the darkness and their pleas in silence, and up until then I couldn't even imagine that they could be so scared as to humiliate themselves by begging. I subjected them to the worst fate imaginable, and I'm putting their only hope, and my only redemption, in the hands of the enemy. I've rendered their existence worse than worthless. I've stripped them from all glory, and in doing so endangered myself. I can't return home, because I am hunted. Hated, despised and wanted dead by my own family. I have _nothing _more to give than I have already offered."

The last few words has ripped through Castiel, ridding him of the last of his adrenaline. His body felt limp and his head light, yet he stood and he held his gaze, glaring down at Crowley like the inferior petty creation he was. Crowley, seemingly unfazed, smirked.

"Spare me the self-pity Castiel, if you will. Such a turn off."

"Crowley-"

"Cas. Can I call you Cas? After all, we've been through so _much_ together. Remember the little deal we made not so long ago, Cas? The one where you screwed me out of 40,000,000 souls, left me fleeing for my life _and_ gave Hell a hefty downgrade? See, a guy doesn't forget about these things so easily, and demons? Well, we're not the forgiving type. So we're making this on my terms, or not at all. What do you say, Cassy?"

Back in his room, Dean felt the loneliness pressing down on him. He spun the blade that he'd sharpened around in his hands, watching as the light caught the metal. It had always been his job to protect his little brother and he'd failed, and this time he couldn't fix it. Nobody could fix it.

Memories of Hell flicked through his brain, breaking his train of thought like shards of glass. He'd condemned his brother to an eternity of pain. Two months. Two months he had been gone, which, when you're down there, is more like twenty years. Twenty years of burning flesh and 20 years of torturous mind games that left you begging to be back on the table or standing over one yourself.

He tossed the blade on the bed, not caring if the maid walked in and saw it. Screw her. He really couldn't care less. As always before leaving the room, he slid the demon blade in the seam of his jeans, not bothering to convince himself that it was a precaution instead of an excuse to carve open a black-eyed bastard. He'd pretend not to gain pleasure from it, pretend to care about the vessel trapped inside, screaming for help. Pretend he didn't remember the satisfaction of torturing souls.

After downing his fourth whiskey in a row he called up the barmaid for another, even though his world was fuzzy at the sides and spinning with each movement of his head. He didn't care.

Sighing, she threw down her cloth and stared at the swaying stranger.

"Look, you have to stop, okay? I'll call up a cab for you, or maybe you have a friend to make sure you get home alright?"

At the last comment Dean snorted, using his hand to motion for another drink, his barstool rocking slightly under his heavy, lopsided movements. Twirling a long strand of hair between her fingers, she smiled up at Dean.

"What, no friends? What's a guy like you-"

"Listen. I really haven't got any time for your sentimental crap, okay? You don't know squat about me so just can it and get me my drink"

Unfazed by his words, she just leaned in closer, the smell of the drink making her recoil slightly.

"You're right. I don't know anything about you, I don't even know your name. I'm Mariah"

"And I'm done with this conversation, okay? Just give me my drink or I'll find another place that will"

"One more. On the condition that you let me take you home. I get off shift in five minutes"

Within thirty minutes, Dean found himself positioned over the girl whose name he couldn't remember, fucking her as she clawed at his back. Because he didn't have to think about his problems this way. Because it was the only thing he was good at. Because he just wanted to lose himself. Because when he wasn't drunk and engaged in mindless sex, it all became too real.

The memory of hell still clung to him with claws as sharp as a Hell Hound's. He was jumpy, paranoid, neurotic. Each scrape was that of a Hell Hound's paw against the wood, each bark triggered an anxiety attack. He swore he could hear screaming when he glanced at the knife collection in his impala, the shrieking not stopping when he slammed the boot, or when he covered his ears. Not stopping until his throat was as coarse as sandpaper and he realised that they were his screams all along.

So he'd drink until he was calm, until he could think straight. And that's when the problems started. Because he'd think.

And think.

About Sam's eyes rolling as black as the empty night sky and how he couldn't protect him, couldn't save him from his own blind faith in anyone he met.

About the bruises blushing beneath his skin, spreading deep purple like a wine stain across his ribs and jaw; how his father would wake from a drunken stupor not recalling that he was the one that placed them upon his nine-year-old's body. Not caring to apologise when he did.

So he drank to forget that, forget everything. He went from bar to bar to bed. He ignored the worried calls of Castiel. There were days unaccounted for, and days he spent passed out.

One day he opened the door to Castiel with worry buried so far within him that it carved deep wounds on his forehead and formed bruises beneath his eyes, and that all lifted when he saw Dean.

And, just as soon as it faded, it returned only deepened.

It wasn't Dean. It was a shell of Dean, a broken, hollow shell. His eyes were red, dull and empty, his face twisted into a snarl. He no longer smelled of hot spice and leather but of alcohol, the smell so powerful it stole the air from Cas' lungs and curled around his throat, tightening it's grip whenever Dean opened his mouth to speak. But it didn't stop him, because when Cas was under the grip of the souls of purgatory, twisted beyond recognition, Dean still reached out. When he had stood amongst hundreds of corpses of Dean, slain by his own hand, Dean had still managed to pull through and save Cas when he stood towering over the real Dean. So he reached out. He tried to save him.

Dean was way past sober when he opened the door to Cas, and maybe that's why the angel's attempts were enraging him so much. He was clinging to him. His words were like bees around Dean's head, or maybe it was the booze causing the buzzing. But it was too much. He felt boxed in and he couldn't think, couldn't hear with this goddamn noise. He shoved Cas as hard as he could, the angel, not expecting the blow, crashing into the wall. The cheap furniture of the motel toppled over upon the impact and Dean was reminded of all the times it was his father standing where he was. He saw his own frightened face mirrored upon Castiel's.

And that was it. He didn't know if he was angry at himself, or Cas, his dad or the world, everything or anything or nothing it didn't matter because all he felt was a pure bubbling rage. He picked up the fallen table and hurled it against the wall, the single bed was overturned and he punched the wall, white and red mixing on his knuckles and trickling down his arm.

His breathing was laboured and fast, his screams at Cas sounded as if they were being ripped from his very core.

Dean was a hurricane destroying everything in his path, he was the eye of the storm.

But Cas refused to give up on the man he owed so much. Who gave him free will and taught him to use it.


	3. Chapter 2

For the next month, Castiel tried reaching out to Dean but he simply moved motels, knowing Castiel wouldn't be able to find him if he didn't want him to. He sneered at how times had changed, at how Cas had placed those sigils upon his ribs to protect him, at how they were now preventing him to doing so. So Dean remained in a state of drunken stupor, his clothes unchanged, a new girl sleeping with her legs tangled with his each night. He didn't think, he didn't feel, he just drank and fucked. Because that's all he was good for, and it was all that he was good at, and he figured he might as well enjoy the life that he had while he had it before he was down there with Sammy. And maybe, he figured, he'd be more useful down there than he would be up here. Because he was so weak, so fucked up, that he'd be the one torturing the souls. Because he was good for nothing .

When Dean reached into the motel safe only to have his hand come back clutching at air, he knew he was screwed. He looked around at the empty take away cartons and the crumpled receipts from greasy diners littering the floor. Between those, the booze and the motel rent, he'd spent all the money he travelled with.

"Crap" he muttered, his hands sliding down his face. He stood up, the room gently stirring beneath his feet. He'd got used to that. Dean was in desperate need of going back to the bunker to grab more cash, but he'd be damned if he drove the impala in this state, so he dedicated the evening to watching the motel's shoe box sized tv until he sobered up.

A few hours in, he found himself lying on his back on the bed, staring at the cracked and blotchy ceiling, his mind drifting as the urgent voices from the television washed over him. As he pressed his eyes shut, montages of women walking in and out the motel door fluttered around his mind, haunted by the ghost who should have been there. Cas.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his head lowered. He'd lost Sam, he couldn't lose Cas too.

"Castiel if you can hear me ... if you even want to listen;" Dean paused, opening his eyes, and tilted his head upwards. "Cas, I…"

Castiel stood behind an unaware Dean, listening as he poured out his heart. Truth is, he'd known where Dean was staying for a while, he'd just convinced himself that Dean needed to do this. Convinced himself that he was doing the right thing, when deep down he knew it just scared him to know he couldn't fix Dean. This wasn't like the times when he'd come back bloody from a hunt, Cas couldn't just lay his hands upon him and make it right. He'd never had to fix Dean, because Dean was always okay. And it scared Cas to death.

It physically ached Castiel to stand and listen, a confessional between the broken man and the rebelled angel, as Dean apologised needlessly for sinking back into his shell, for closing up, for isolating himself; for acting like a person who suffered a colossal loss. It hurt Castiel because even in this time of loss and healing, Dean still blamed himself for acting in ways less emotional than the angels that he'd despised so much. He apologised for thinking and feeling and acting without the detached and uncaring apathy he thought the world needed from him.

Could he really believe he cared for him only as a soldier, a pawn in the war between heaven and hell, only care for him as the righteous man? Could he believe that he wanted him only to fix the world and not himself? Could Dean truly believe that he cared so little about him? He stood there and listened as Dean blamed himself for pushing him away, when in reality, Castiel knew it was he who had ran from Dean. He couldn't see Dean's face, but he could hear the tears in his voice, and it was too much. He couldn't let him hurt like this.

"Dean" He placed a hand on his tensed shoulder, gripping slightly at the material. Dean shot onto his feet, spinning to face the heavy-hearted man in the trenchcoat.

"Geez Cas! How many times have I told you not to do that?"

Dean tried to swallow the knot in his throat while Cas tried to compose himself . They pretended that they were okay for the sake of one another, because isn't that what they'd always done?

"How long had you been listening?"

"Dean, I'm always listening"

They stood there for a while, jumbled thoughts flitting through their minds, noticing the small things about each other without meaning to. The freckles that painted Dean's face, the perfect curve of Cas' lips. The few hairs escaping onto Dean's forehead. They looked back on their time together silently, only now realising just how much they needed one another. How often they were there, how much they would do to ensure the other's happiness.

Dean couldn't remember times before Cas' childlike innocence was the only thing to brighten his day, he couldn't think of another person who would stand waiting all night simply because he'd promised to. Cas had always tried his best to live up to his promises, to do what was best, to _be there _for Dean, and when Dean tried to think of another person who regarded him so highly he came up blank. Not his father nor brother, the two people he held dearest, had been so unconditionally _there_ for him. Not like Cas.

No, he couldn't remember a time before Cas, and when he thought about it, he decided that he didn't want to, either. Although he'd never admit it, not even to himself, Dean needed exactly what everybody else needed: he needed to be cared for. He needed to be loved. And Cas provided those things in abundance.


	4. Chapter 3

Cas stared into Dean's eyes, marveling, and not for the first time, about how eyes could be so green. So beautiful. Such a true reflection of his soul: pure and vibrant. Dean swallowed, eyes glistening as a half smile crept upon his face. He glanced away, twisting the fabric of his shirt between his fingers. Now it was Cas' time to smile: he'd never seen Dean so nervous before. Not in the face of Death or Hell or the devil himself. He was chewing the inside of his cheek now, and before Castiel could think of why he was acting this way, Dean leaned into him and let his warm lips fall upon the unexp ecting angel, pulling away before Cas could pull through the shock and kiss him back.

Suddenly, Castiel wasn't afraid anymore . How many times had he watched Dean sleep and wanted to do nothing more than to lay his lips upon his sleepy brow, refraining only at the thought of the amount of women that left bars with him on their arm and lust in their eyes? The fact he said he thought of him as a brother . How he said time and time again that in this business, you're not allowed to have relationships because they're a weakness. But it had happened. Dean had kissed him.

Still shocked that he'd done it, Dean staggered even further back. It felt like a lifetime since it had happened and yet Castiel still stood there just staring at him, eyes wide. Dean started to turn away, cheeks blazing, swearing under his breath. He was such an idiot. Such a fucking idiot. Castiel was his angel, he probably couldn't even_ fee__**l**_ anything for him.

Cas cursed the insecurity that had always haunted Dean. He wasn't going to miss this opportunity. His one chance. As adrenaline coursed through his body, Castiel grabbed Dean by the arm and pulled him back until his face was so close to his own that he could feel Dean's breath upon him. With new confidence, Dean took Cas' face between his hands, smiling as the gap between them closed.

It was new, and it was timid, the boys smiling into the slow rhythm of the kiss. Dean teased Cas with short, sweet pecks until, crazed with longing, Cas pulled him in and kept him prisoner to his curious tongue. A small laugh escaped Dean's throat and melted into Cas' mouth, the two boys hot with desire, hands roaming through hair and under clothing.

Breathless, Cas pulled away, foreheads resting against each other as they tried to gain control of themselves. Dean's hands felt red hot against Cas' back and Castiel continued to rub circles on Dean's hips with his thumb hooked through his belt loop. Dean flashed a smile that made Cas' world somehow feel infinitely bigger and smaller at the same time, and when he licked his lips, Cas lost control and crushed his face to Dean's, his mouth traveling his jawline and down his neck as soft moans rolled from their mouths. As he slowed down, Dean crooked his finger beneath Castiel's chin, tilting his face to his own. Strong, steady hands anchored Cas and there was a stillness between them both. He closed his eyes, breathing in his scent as Dean's lips lingered on his forehead.

"God, I've been wanting to do that for so long" Dean sighed, both of their hearts pounding against their chests, their breath escaping in short bursts.

Cas was eager, feeling the uncountable years of celibacy building, the electricity coursing through him that intensified with every touch. He pushed himself against Dean, a flurry of hands and tongue against him, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the button of Dean's jeans. Dean just laughed, pushing Castiel away slightly and gripping him by the shoulders. Cas stared up at Dean, eyes wide and sparkling.

"Cas, are you sure you want to do this?"

A muffled whimper of a yes came in reply as Castiel tried to push forward, his hands grabbing at the denim fabric, but Dean simply held him on the spot with two firm hands, forcing Cas to stare at him directly in the eye. As Cas sobered from his surge of lust, Dean asked him once more:

"You're absolutely sure?"

"Dean"

Dean simply nodded and pulled Castiel towards him, the two boys melting together as Dean wrapped his arms around Cas' waist, kissing him slowly, his fingers stroking underneath the elastic of Cas' boxers as Cas pulled Dean closer, fingertips grabbing, needing more. Dean's hands moved upwards, skimming Cas' hips and clawing at his back, finally breaking them free from underneath the clothing as he ragged off the trenchcoat. Cas followed, pulling off Dean's jacket between breathless kisses and soon their shirts joined the puddle of clothes on the floor.

Dean's tongue traced Cas' collarbone, his teeth grazing the skin of his neck as Cas dropped their jeans and boxers, the virgin already whimpering and hard with anticipation. His hot hands held Cas' inner thighs, stroking closer and closer to his cock until he finally pushed his legs apart and replaced his hands with his tongue, slowly kissing, licking and nibbling Cas' skin.

Cas sat up, panting, heart hammering. His hands locked onto Dean's hair, pulling and grabbing, trying not to lose control. Dean looked up and smirked at Cas' wide eyes and with a lick of his lips and a wink, he continued. He traced Cas' cock with his tongue - "D-Dean, please-" Cas whispered, his head tilted back as he stared at the ceiling - and Dean finally stops teasing, taking Castiel into his mouth, the sensation new to him: how soft and smooth it feels in his mouth, how it seems to fit so naturally. He doesn't let on to Cas that he's nervous, that his heart is hammering and his palms are sweating. Instead, he pulled Cas in further, licking and sucking, his whole body feeling like it was on fire, his own cock hard and throbbing, needing this more than anything. Dean grabs Castiel by the ass, pulling him closer, his eyes starting to water from the depth.

Going off what pleasures him, Dean started working Cas' cock; swirling the head with his tongue, pumping the base with his hand. He sucked and tugged roughly, sharp gasps pouring from Castiel as Dean flicked his tongue around the sensitive areas, switching tempos as he slowly enveloped Cas with the hot, wet heat of his mouth over and over, taking the full length out and back in again, allowing the cool air to stimulate him further.

Cas' heart is beating so fast he's sure that that's what's making his body shake, even his quick, hot gasps and moans do not go untouched by this, coming out ragged and quavering. He found himself making noises he never knew he could make, ones from deep within born from pure lust, and they pour out, filling the room. His head's towards the Heavens and his eyes are closed, his back arched and his fists clenched, unable to take the electricity flowing through his body until finally he came, gulping for the air he'd neglected as his breathing slowed.

Dean pulled away, panting, words caught in his throat as he wordlessly guided cas towards him, practically begging to be relieved. Cas is still messy and wet, a chain of saliva still tracing the way from his cock to Dean's mouth, but he lowers himself to Dean's level, his legs weak beneath him as he does so, and pushes his face against Dean, kissing him messily as his hands find Dean already dripping with precum. Despite the frantic nature of the kiss, Cas stroked Dean slowly, his thumb brushing over the head as he swallows Dean's gasps.

Dean's so crazily heated that his mind has shut down, living only off touch as the euphoria from Cas' caressing touches send him wild, his fingers grabbing at the carpet in an effort to anchor himself as his back arches, forcing himself deeper into Cas' grip, slowly swinging his hips and fucking himself into Cas' hand.

Cas' grip grew tighter and his hand worked faster causing Dean to bite down on his lip, drawing the slightest of blood that he licked away. Moans ripped from within Dean, and though he's usually patient and in control, he yells out, unable to hold on any longer, cumming all over his own stomach and Cas' hands. Sweat was beading on their bodies as they lay together, the heat and electricity radiating from them both as they muttered incomprehensible sentences repetitively.

They lay there together until their hearts beat at normal pace, the silence broken as Cas mumbled into Dean's shoulder a very timid:

"Is sex … is it always that pleasurable?"

And for the life of him, Dean couldn't manage to choke out one crappy pickup line, instead replying truthfully that he wished he'd known it'd be that right sooner. And it was, it was just … _right. _And Dean hated himself for being such a chick about it, but lying there with Castiel he felt safe and he felt loved and he felt more connected to him than he'd ever felt before.

Cas took Dean's hand, still staring up at the ceiling and not noticing the way Dean stared at him with pure adoration and unadulterated happiness.


	5. Chapter 4

The sunlight was pouring through the crack in the curtains when Dean woke, the sound of Asia filling the room. Dean thought of the days that Sam had woke to this song too, losing his brother every time. The thought knotted with the memory of losing Sam, they pulled and tightened but continued to grow, stretching out to fill each fibre of Dean with remorse and loss.

Dean's clenched his hand around the radio alarm, his arm drew back, ready to smash the thoughts to tiny pieces. That was, of course, until he saw Cas, small and fragile, sleeping softly by his side. At some point they had fell asleep on the carpet, fingers still intertwined, and when Dean woke while the sky was still black he'd lifted Cas to the bed, a sleepy grin unfolding as his eyes fluttered awake.

He hadn't thought it strange when Cas had slipped in and out of slumber as he rested his head upon his chest last night, the conversation slowing as sleep slowly claimed them both again. Nor in the blissful few minutes of morning where he lay watching the sleeping angel as he mumbled softly, noticing the way the light hit his face as if heaven itself were smiling down upon the decision they had finally made.

No, it wasn't until a little while later when Cas had joined him as he made the coffee that the thought had happened upon him.

Cas had rubbed his eyes, squinting through the blinding sunlight after Dean had opened the curtains, and he reluctantly swung his legs over the side of the bed, leaving the warmth. He was resting his elbows upon his knees with his head in his hands, staring down at an old, worn shirt that Dean had bought when he was a teenager (at least, that was what Cas had hoped, but these were the Winchesters and you could count upon one hand the things they had got by honest means) and was too sentimental to let it go. It was in the early hours of the morning just passed, while the deep crimson light was beginning to bleed into the darks of the night, that Dean had told Cas about the nights he and Sammy would sneak out under the silence of the moon while their father lay in an alcohol induced sleep. They would light fireworks or count the stars, and Dean would listen to Sam talk about school, pride and bitter regret swelling in his chest. Those were the memories of the tshirt he had entrusted Castiel with.

Cas had gently rejoined the morning, the memories still lingering as he fingered the material and walked over to where Dean stood, still rubbing at his eyes.

"Sleep well?" Dean had asked, and Cas had replied with a sheepish, sleepy nod, but Dean's mind was already elsewhere. This was when the realisation hit. Because why was he sleeping in the first place? His mind rushed through the countless times he'd woke to Castiel standing over him, the echos of explanations that angels don't sleep rattling around like angry bees. But he pulled Cas to his side and planted a kiss on his temple, and with the simple thought of Cas dining at burger joints on the few times he'd joined the hunts though he didn't need to eat, he figured maybe the sleeping thing was like that, too, and the thought slipped straight from his mind.


	6. Chapter 5

The months passed in sweet harmony, the apple-pie-life Dean had always desired firmly within his grasp. Cas had moved in to the bunker, and together they'd created a perfect life - Dean had gained a job as a mechanic, and Cas waited tables at the local diner. The doubts in Dean's mind had been locked away, so adamant as he was to keep these moments of bliss.

The empty bottles that had once littered his night stand had been replaced with half empty coffee mugs and a frayed and beaten copy of the bible. In the nights Dean would wake drenched in cold sweat, he would simply pull closer to Castiel, the sleeping angel who never left his side.

And then everything, as easily as it had came together, fell apart.

Crashed and crumbled beneath the feet of the man who convinced himself he has built his house upon rock, not the collapsing sand that he was now buried beneath.

Dean's bedroom was illuminated by the frequent flashes of lightning tearing through the fabric of the night sky, the rolling thunder stirring him to wakefulness. He absentmindedly reached across the bed, hand clutching at the cold covers Castiel had left hours ago.

He got up and crossed the cold wooden floor of the bunker, mind still fuzzy from sleep, searching for Cas. He would often wake with the lightning and sit curled up on the windowsill, allowing the rain to pour in causing his hair to cling onto his solemn face. Dean would have to coax him down, folding Castiel's body into his own, ignorant of the cold dampness of Cas' clothes.

On one night similar to this, he'd leaned into Dean and told him how the storm made him think of home. The great, white, fierce flashes so deadly and beautiful. And, miles away from Dean, this warmth was what Castiel was thinking of.

"Oh Castiel, you're home, I was getting so worried"

"Shut up, Crowley. I'm here, okay? Just like you wanted. I'm here."

Cas' words formed without emotion, his words as weighed down with grief and numbness as his heart. No going back now, the inevitability of the deal made one year ago crashed down upon Castiel.

"Oh now come on Cas, it'll be fun! The King of Hell and a fallen, graceless angel warming their feet by the fiery pits? We could have our own sitcom"

Cas - broken, defeated, hopeless - lifted his head towards the sneering demon. He would never begin to understand the twisted kicks Crowley got from this. How he tore people down until they were unrecognisable without a shred of dignity, and laughed at the fall.

"You always did suit the broody, depressed look, but why now Cas? After all, I gave you everything you wanted. I got Sam out of Hell, you got Dean for a year, I've got you for eternity and Dean, Dean gets his brother back. Everyone's a winner." Crowley commented, walking up behind Cas and laying his hands upon Cas' shoulders. He dipped his voice low, menacing, and into Castiel's ear uttered "You know, now this year's up and he finally gets to find out Sam's alive...you'll just be a ghost in his memories. Sam and Dean back together, riding through the night in the impala. He wont miss you now you're gone, Castiel."

It had been two hours since Dean had woke, the bunker unrecognisably torn apart as he desperately searched for Cas. It seemed like years before he heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the rusty old lock.

The relief of seeing Cas' face in the frame of the door was short-lived. His skin tingled and stomach dropped. The air seemed to thin around him, because he knew. Something was wrong.

"Dean, I can't stay."

Before Dean could open his mouth to speak, Cas thrust a book towards his chest.

"This should explain everything. I'm…" And he lost words. Because how what was he supposed to say?

He looked down at the book, a bank of memories of him and Cas - every short lived argument, every line of them trying to show just how much they needed each other.

He tore. And shred. He ripped the pages from the spine, becoming increasingly frantic until he slung it across the room, his chest swelling with rage and hurt. He swallowed, and, with a tiny voice, called out Cas' name for the last time.

"Goodbye, Dean."


End file.
